A Yacht Called Erewhon

by Stuart Vaughan

  Paint obeyed without question, as the day before had been the first time he’d ever been on a yacht. He’d enjoyed himself and wanted desperately to be part of the crew.

  Patty and Jackie joined the rest of the willing helpers on deck. They let the boys show off on the grinders, knowing full well that it’s about technique, not just grunt. When the boys flagged, the girls took over, leaving the boys watching with their mouths open while the Yankee chicks ground the main to the top. As the halyard was cleated off, they turned and smiled. ‘You Kiwis are soft!’ they chorused.

  Mic called for the headsail. The sails flogged back and forth, as the crew tried to regain some self-respect, not letting the girls near the grinders again.

  As Mic pulled the bow down, she signalled to Paint to shut down the engine. Erewhon heeled to port, and the rig groaned as the load went on. The yacht leaped forward, and the following flotilla kept well clear as we put in two short tacks to clear Kauri Point.

  I was quietly relieved when we were able to ease the sheets and head down-harbour past the Meola Reef.

  ‘Do you want to try the spinnaker?’ Mic asked, as Dad watched the speed of the water disappearing off the stern.

  ‘What, this not fast enough for you?’ he said, as the speedo was already pressing sixteen knots.

  ‘Never fast enough!’

  Dad walked forward. ‘Do you lot feel happy about setting the spinnaker?’ he asked.

  ‘Too right!’ everyone standing on the deck chorused.

  ‘What about the gybe around North Head?’

  ‘No sweat!’ Patty and Jackie replied together.

  ‘OK, let’s do it, and I’ll get Commodore Bob to take Hepi ahead to get some pictures.’

  As the spinnaker raced to the masthead, Dad radioed to Bob Sorenson to get ahead so that Hepi could take photographs as Erewhon passed under the main span of the harbour bridge. Bob loved an excuse to crack open the throttles and, with a shower of spray and an enormous wake, managed to get on the city side of the bridge as Erewhon blasted through.

  The spinnaker filled with an enormous crack, and she leaped on top of the water, her hull riding up on the bowwave. The crew went silent as the speedo climbed rapidly. Mic was beaming as the wharves flashed by.

  TJ scrambled back along the deck to stand alongside Dad. ‘How much do you want for her? I’ll get my boss to write a cheque for you today!’ he said.

  Dad continued to gaze alternately at the giant rig, over the stern, and then under the main boom, without answering TJ. ‘Bloody hell!’ he finally bellowed. ‘Reckon we should prepare for that gybe now. We’ll be running into Rangitoto Island soon if we don’t!’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jim, I’ll call it with plenty of time,’ Mic replied.

  ‘I’m not kidding about the cheque,’ TJ continued. ‘I’m going to have to do some serious work on Valhalla to cut it with this baby!’

  Dad relaxed enough to raise a smile, but didn’t take his eyes off proceedings. The speedo was pushing twenty-two knots. None of the entourage could keep pace.

  ‘Listen!’ Mic called above the din. ‘The hum!’

  Everybody stopped talking as the bow cleaved the harbour and the wake roared like rapids off the stern.

  ‘Ready to gybe!’ Mic called, which refocused everybody’s attention. ‘Pole over!’

  The inner pole end shot up the mast as I headed for the bow. The operation went smoothly, and I switched the sheets as the outer end of the pole whizzed past my shins. Thank heavens for the America’s Cup boys and their improvements to yachting gear, I thought to myself. The spinnaker cracked, as the pole dropped into position and the port sheet took the load. The grinders buzzed as the main flopped over.

  Mic squared away to run out into the gulf. Dad breathed a sigh of relief as everybody settled down on the windward rail. Mic let out a shriek as the speedo crossed the twenty-five knot barrier—there was no holding Erewhon.

  ‘At this speed we’ll be at Great Barrier Island in half an hour,’ I said to Mic, as I crept back to stand beside her.

  ‘Nana says she’s faster with the new rig than she ever was,’ she whispered to me.

  At this moment, TJ approached Dad. ‘Well, Jim, have you considered my offer? How much do you want?’

  ‘Sorry, TJ, she’s not for sale.’

  ‘If you change your mind, can I have the first refusal?’

  Dad nodded and thrust out his burly hand in TJ’s direction, ‘That’s a deal, but don’t hold your breath!’

  He looked over the stern. The entourage was nearly out of sight, and Tiritiri lighthouse was off the stern quarter. ‘Do we give her a workout upwind?’ he asked Mic.

  She looked up at the rig and then over her shoulder. ‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘I think there’s enough water back there to give her a decent test. Let’s do it!’

  All spare hands hustled up onto the deck, as preparations were made to down the spinnaker. Erewhon was fitted with a launcher, and this made the mammoth task a lot easier. Eager hands helped guide the billowing sail down the tube and dealt with the pole and sheets. Patty and Jackie flew around the foredeck and then returned aft to assist on the grinders. My mates were reluctant to let them near the winches, so they offered encouragement as the main and jib were cranked on. The boat speed had dropped dramatically, but now she heeled in the fresh breeze and the speed began to climb. Running downwind, I hadn’t noticed the seaway that had built up, and now the bow was biting into the waves and the spray was flying. The rig groaned as we bounced into each swell, but Mic didn’t back off. She called for more tension on the mainsail, and the grinders obliged. TJ stood with his eyes firmly fixed on the speedo, and then he turned to Dad.

  ‘Jim, now I’m worried! Sixteen knots on the wind, and your rigger reckons he can find you some more power!’

  ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet!’ Mic called above the hubbub, as Erewhon crashed through another swell. ‘Ready about!’ she ordered, and we all jumped to assist with the grinders. She waited for the bow to start rising, then called, ‘’Bout oh!’

  Erewhon crashed through the turn and was quickly up to speed on the port tack.

  ‘Offer still stands, Jim!’ TJ called.

  ‘Not for sale, old son, not for sale!’

  Mic signalled to Dad to take over the helm and stepped up to the wheel. As she handed over, she pressed her mouth to his ear. ‘Nana says, steer her on the hum,’ she whispered. ‘You’re not looking for the loudest sound—you’re looking for the sweetest note.’

  Mic retook the wheel with one hand while Dad gripped as well. She eased the helm up and down until the audible sound changed to the pitch she was looking for. ‘There—that’s it,’ she said, as she let go of the wheel.

  Dad eased the wheel up and down until he thought the note was right.

  ‘You’ve got it,’ she said, with delight.

  Erewhon quickly made it back to where the entourage had gathered, and although none of the crew on board wanted to leave, some of them traded places to allow others to have a turn. Erewhon raced around the gulf, and the more everyone got used to the gear, the sharper she looked.

  The wind increased and the loads went on the rig, but the mast seemed capable of handling the conditions, until Dad called for more pressure on the boom vang to counteract a slight downwind roll. The unit announced it wasn’t strong enough in a dramatic fashion—the pressed fitting at the boom end pulled apart with a bang. Fortunately, nobody was within range of the flailing remains. Patty, Jackie and the rest of the crew were quickly on the foredeck to retrieve the spinnaker so we could get back on the wind to get the main boom under control.

  With the grinders humming, the massive boom was reined in, and we headed for home. Matt and I rigged a temporary vang as the rest of the crew ground on the jib sheets. We were pretty pleased with our damage control as once again the speed started to climb.

  ‘Well!’ said Dad, as we settled in for the slog back to the harbour. ‘The Espie team have a job to do in the morning
, and I might see if they can fit those lower spreaders at the same time. I hope it doesn’t take long,’ he continued, looking in Paint’s direction. ‘I’ve promised your iwi an exclusive day out next weekend.’

  Paint picked up the remains of the broken vang and placed it on the cockpit deck. He studied it at length and grunted, ‘Bloody amateurs!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Dad quizzed.

  ‘That fitting wouldn’t hold Pussy!’ he replied. ‘When I was staying at the Big House, we made stays for a bridge, twice as strong and half the weight of that, and I guarantee you wouldn’t pull them apart!’

  Dad looked at Paint. ‘Reckon you could fix that one?’

  ‘No sweat!’

  ‘Then that’s your first job Monday morning!’

  Dad had agreed to put Erewhon on display at the America’s Cup village, and now that our mooring at the back of the farm wasn’t an option, this was the logical alternative. We tacked around North Head and cranked the jib along the starboard rail. With the calmer water, Erewhon rapidly gained speed, and we flew up the harbour.

  ‘That’ll do for today,’ Dad shouted, as Mic spun the head to wind to stand off Prince’s Wharf. Paint hit the starter, and the engine flashed into life as the jib was being furled. The mainsail rattled down the mast as we laid the sail on the boom and squared the deck. Mic pointed the bow for the gap in the seawall, and on her instruction Paint eased the throttle ahead.

  Mic guided Erewhon gracefully through the entrance of Viaduct Basin, unperturbed by the whistles and cheers from a gathering crowd. Paint feathered the throttle at her command, and the gleaming hull eased to a stop alongside the jetty.

  The setting sun reflected off the polished brass fittings, as the crowd on the dock buzzed, wondering where the yacht might have come from. The New Zealand ensign fluttering on the stern added to the confusion, and Patty and Jackie’s accents compounded the guessing game.

  Mic continued to ignore the whistles from the maledominated crowd, as she moved around the deck checking that everything was stowed. Bob Sorenson and a couple of the other launches entered the Basin and rafted up to Erewhon. They were going to ferry us back home that night. With everything shipshape and the jetty security gate locked, we all piled onto the launches for the trip up the harbour.

  I sat down on the stern of Commodore Bob’s launch. This was the first time I’d had leisure to ponder my future, and it didn’t take long for Mum to notice I wasn’t my usual self.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asked, as she sat down beside me.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied.

  ‘Face doesn’t say nothing!’

  I watched the phosphorescence-laden wake disappear into the dark. Finally, I muttered that now Sam was gone and Erewhon was back in the water, I was redundant. Mum put her arm around my shoulder.

  ‘Jim!’ she said, and Dad came over to join us.

  ‘What’s up?’ he boomed.

  ‘Ben’s worried that now Sam’s gone and Erewhon’s back in the water, he’s redundant.’

  ‘Redundant, bullshit! Erewhon needs a boatmaster. Reckon you better get your ticket if you want the job!’ He turned and walked back to stand with Bob. ‘Bloody kids,’ he muttered. ‘Want you to do all their thinking for them!’

  Boatmaster, I thought, boatmaster of Erewhon. I didn’t need to think long about that and turned back to Mum.

  ‘Do you want the job?’ she asked.

  ‘Do fish swim in the ocean?’ I replied, with a grin.

  ‘Well, then, no more glum faces!’

  I nodded with a smile and sat back on the seat. Patty, who’d been talking to Matt and Jackie, joined me, and nuzzled against me as my mind raced. She was thrilled at my new appointment, but was also sad that she, TJ and Jackie were on their way home that evening.

  After a meal and a change of clothes, they climbed into a taxi for the trip to the airport. It had been great having their experience on Erewhon’s first outings. Patty promised to e-mail me, and Matt made similar arrangements with Jackie. TJ made one last attempt to buy Erewhon, but settled for a long, lingering kiss from Mic.

  18

  As the taxi disappeared down the drive, Mum let out a sigh of relief.

  ‘What’s up, doll?’ Dad asked.

  ‘This is the first time in I don’t know how many weeks that we’ve had the house to ourselves.’

  We were sitting out on the patio, having a quiet drink. Dad nodded and poured her another wine. ‘Stage three complete! I’ve said, from the day I set eyes on her, that Erewhon wasn’t going to be a museum piece, and we’re ready now to race her anywhere we can find an opponent. After the last two days, I’m even more convinced that’s what I want to do. Erewhon needs someone at the helm who can extract the best performance, and I was rather hoping my honorary daughter would take up that role.’ Dad looked meaningfully at Mic, who beamed back at him.

  Dad laughed. ‘It’s a deal then?’

  ‘It’s a deal, Dad!’ she replied.

  ‘We need a campaign manager,’ Dad continued, looking at Matt. ‘Someone to negotiate and organise fundraising to finance the whole operation. Do you think you’d be able to cut the mustard?’

  Matt pondered for a minute. ‘Will this be a full-time job?’ he asked.

  ‘With the plans I have for Erewhon, you might have trouble finding time to sleep.’

  ‘In that case, I’m your man!’ he replied.

  ‘And where do I fit into the scheme of things?’ Mum chimed in.

  ‘At home by the sink!’ Dad teased.

  Mum picked up a pillow from the seat and threw it as hard as she could at him.

  ‘OK, a project this size needs a publicity manager. How about it?’

  ‘Do I get to sail on Erewhon?’

  ‘I’m not spending all this money for you to sit on the shore.’

  ‘Then publicity manager sounds fine to me.’

  ‘Right, now is everybody happy?’

  ‘Ye-e-s!’ we all chorused.

  ‘We’ve got about eight months to get Erewhon into race trim to be ready for her first big test. TJ’s going to talk his boss into bringing Valhalla back down here for a refit in August, so I’m picking they’ll be ready for a race in November.’

  ‘Having sailed both yachts,’ Mic said, ‘I don’t see Valhalla as a problem.’

  ‘She will be a different boat after a refit, so we don’t want to stumble at the first hurdle. TJ told me the refit would include a new mast and sails, so you can bet the work will include modifications to the keel. She’ll be a faster boat. The Texan won’t lie down! Now, Ben, you know what I expect from you?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’

  ‘If we’re going to take Erewhon offshore, you’ll need your ticket to do that, and as boatmaster you’ll be in charge of the day-to-day running and maintenance. I expect her to be in race trim all the time—if we want to attract sponsors for our adventure, we can’t afford to lose races because of broken gear.’

  ‘Right now, I can hear my bed calling,’ said Mum.

  Matt and Dad slowly drifted off, too, leaving Mic and me to chat. ‘That was an extra-long kiss you gave TJ as he was leaving,’ I said, as she lounged back in her chair.

  She smiled. ‘No longer than the one you gave Patty when you climbed on board Erewhon last night. But I’m not ready for another relationship right now. I really like TJ, but I don’t want him to think there’s any more to it than just being friends. What about you and Patty—are you getting serious?’

  ‘I really like her, too, but I don’t want a long-distance relationship, and neither does she, so we’ll see. Now, big sister, I’m going to get some sleep.’

  I tried lying on my bed, but my mind was racing a million miles an hour and sleep didn’t come easily. I tossed and turned all night, and finally rose with the birds. I wandered down to the kitchen, where Dad was already eating breakfast.

  ‘What, you wet the bed?’ he said, surprised to see me so early.

  ‘No, just couldn’t sleep.
Too many things to think about. Anyway, I want to get over to the boat. Paint said he’s going to strip the rest of the vang off.’

  ‘Good,’ Dad replied. ‘I’m still hoping to take the iwi out for a sail at the weekend.’

  He returned to munching his bowl of cereal, stopping only to wash it down with a cup of coffee. ‘You need to start thinking about a permanent crew,’ he said, as he walked towards the door. ‘It will be a progressive thing, starting with volunteers. Then, as we get closer to the serious stuff and Matt gets the sponsors, we’ll hire twenty or so full-timers.’

  ‘That’s roughly what I had in mind. About thirty of my mates have expressed interest in joining the crew, so over the next few months we can give them all a try.’

  I was glad I was early: by the time I’d picked up Paint and his gear and we’d made our way to the Basin, a crowd had gathered at the jetty gate. When I opened it, the throng tried to surge in to get a closer look. As they did, Paint turned to face them, and in a low voice said, ‘That’s close enough, thank you!’

  The crowd took one look at him and backed off.

  ‘You’ve just appointed yourself head of security,’ I said.

  ‘Do I keep my job as motorman?’

  ‘Is anyone else allowed to touch that engine?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then I guess you’re head of security and motorman.’

  ‘Thanks, bro.’

  The crowd spread itself along the quay, watching with interest as we worked to strip the remains of the broken boom vang. Paint studied it closely. ‘Bloody mugs!’ he said, as he looked at the broken end.

  We loaded it into my car, and I handed him the keys. ‘I’ll stay here. Terry Espie and his man are coming down soon to measure the extra spreaders.’

  As I walked back to the security gate, a quiet voice caught my attention. ‘Could I ask you a couple of questions?’

  I turned to find a beautiful face to match the gentle voice. ‘Hi! I’m Veronica Smith, a reporter for Ocean Spray magazine.’

  ‘Hi!’ I replied. ‘I’m Ben Standish, boatmaster of Erewhon.’ I liked the sound of that.